The River Rolls
by Ellcrys
Summary: During a visit to Duke Bardorba, Sydney makes an unusual request of Hardin, with unusual consequences.


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**Disclaimer:** As always, playing with characters and situations that are not my own for fun rather than profit.

**Warning:** Shockingly, no (overt) slash or even (overt) spoilers. Just many, many hints.

**Notes:** A scene that actually popped into my head right after I got an idea for a particular scene in chapter 13 of Burning Bridges. I'm not so sure how well it reads without having read the former story for the background, but I did include a short reminder of the scene in question.

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**The River Rolls**

Hardin had noted that Duke Bardorba's manor was quite large upon his first visit there with Sydney. Not abnormally so for someone with so much wealth and prestige and a noble family line that could be traced far back into the history of Valendia, but larger than Hardin's own family's holdings, even before things had begun to go wrong. Even if he had been comfortable walking around the manor and its grounds by himself when they'd first come to ask assistance from the duke, Hardin supposed that he could not have explored it all adequately. However, the duke had welcomed them in for a second visit despite his wife's disapproving glare, so Hardin felt a bit more comfortable having a look around. It was far better than remaining alone in the suite he and Sydney shared while Sydney met with their host. 

The winter had been harsh, and with the spring had come more promises of persecution from the cardinal's men and the king's, who were even more furious with Sydney since they had decided to become outlaws in earnest. Hoping to avoid a situation like the one that had awaited them the previous year, Sydney had opted to leave the brethren of Müllenkamp inside Leá Monde until he could assure them of safe travels. It was for this reason that he and Hardin had come to the ducal manor a second time. 

Hardin had no need to be there, of course, aside from keeping Sydney company during the journey and perhaps offering him moral support in this place that he loathed so much for some undisclosed reason; Sydney would not let him sit in on his discussions with the duke, and in fact had asked specifically that he not listen in with the Sight, as Hardin had been somewhat tempted to do in the past. He likely would not have, because he did respect Sydney's privacy, but now his word was given. While Sydney was in these meetings, he had nothing to do but restlessly walk the halls, using his talent to avoid the servants, who remained fearful of "the evil cultist" in their piety. 

The stables had provided him with some distraction for a time, for the duke kept fine horses. However, one of the stablehands kept shooting suspicious glances at Hardin as if he thought he might catch him trying to curse the duke's best horse, and rather than disturb the man with his presence, Hardin had left. Now it was the hallways of the manor itself, furnished with fine curtains and tapestries and paintings enough to occupy his interest until Sydney had concluded his business. 

Turning a corner from a winding corridor, Hardin passed what seemed to be an identical sitting room to the one the duke and his wife had greeted them in, though more casually and comfortably furnished, and he glanced inside. What he found was intriguing - the centerpiece of the room was an old harp, standing nearly as tall as himself. 

Hardin stepped inside the room to have a better look at the instrument, which appeared quite finely made. It seemingly hadn't been maintained properly, for it was covered with a thin layer of dust, as was much of the room. Hardin wondered who in this place would have played it; did the duke have a musician on his staff? Or perhaps, he thought with a slight frown, it belonged to the duchess. It seemed unlikely, considering the dust, but she had recently given birth to a son, and perhaps she had been too busy to play. He'd have been tempted to brush the dust off from the smooth wood frame, if not for that thought - he'd not dare touch any of Lady Ellemir's possessions knowingly, seeing as she already considered him and the others of Sydney's brethren to be despicable heretics. 

He turned to go - and caught his breath, for Sydney was abruptly standing in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame with metal arms crossed over his chest. Hardin was accustomed to his sudden arrivals, but they still startled him now and then. 

"Did it go well, Sydney?" Hardin asked. Then, seeing the hints of melancholy in and around the mage's eyes, he added, "Are you well?" 

Sydney nodded, but there was still sadness and exhaustion behind the usual coldness of his expression - Hardin knew he had not been sleeping well since their arrival - and his response was soft. "I am fine, Hardin. Our business has been concluded, and we shall leave in the morning for Leá Monde." 

"Good..." Hardin didn't like seeing Sydney this way, and somehow the mage was more comfortable in the cursed city than the duke's finery. He couldn't help but notice, though, that Sydney was not quite looking at him when he spoke, and this was puzzling - until he realized that Sydney's eyes were trained on the instrument beside him. He was reminded of a conversation they'd had almost a year before, shortly after leaving the duke's manor together for the first time. 

"I want you to let me in," Hardin had muttered. "Only a little, if that is all you would be comfortable with. I want to learn things about you that are not obvious to everyone. That is all." 

"And if I tell you something about myself," Sydney had replied impatiently, "can we end this discussion and move on?" 

"Well... yes." 

"All right, then." Sydney paused, thinking for a moment. "When I was younger, I played the harp. It was a refuge of sorts... very calming. I had to leave it behind when I left my home. Given the life I lead now, such a large musical instrument is unnecessary - just another thing to have to carry, and our burdens are already heavy enough. And besides, once I'd gotten these hands of mine," he had added, glancing down at the claw of his right hand as it tapped on his left arm, "it became next to impossible to play anything involving strings." 

Sydney could, of course, read the thoughts of his heart effortlessly, and he smiled a slight, bittersweet smile at Hardin's memory. "Indeed," he affirmed, stepping inside the room to have a closer look at the harp himself, his metal hands clicking as he uncrossed his arms. "This instrument belonged to one who lived here long ago, and has not been touched since he, like many of the duke's favored servants, was driven out by the duchess's nattering about witchcraft and heresy. An instrument such as this in the hands of one who does not believe as she does? If the songs he played were lovely, it was only because they must have been ungodly enchantments, the work of demons, designed to sway all those who hear to the side of evil." 

Hardin nodded. The duchess did seem quite defensive about her faith, though neither he nor Sydney had attempted to sway her from it. "And so the room is silent and this instrument neglected because of her paranoia." 

"Exactly." If Sydney's soft, cool voice held anything at all, it was an edge of anger. "For what purpose did the trees fall, did the earth lay bare its ores; for what purpose did the craftsman labor, for what purpose did the harpist study, if it is to sit idle for the rest of its days?" 

He prowled around the instrument, and Hardin at its side, regarding it with great interest. In fact, he almost appeared hungry, as if he were a snake about to strike. If not for his metal claws, Hardin thought he very well might have, but it was impossible. 

Perhaps Sydney heard the thought, for he looked up to meet Hardin's eyes. His own held a fire borne of defiance and mischief, a look Hardin had become quite familiar with; he often had that look just before he said something for which the cardinal would have executed him on the spot, even if not for his established status as an enemy of the church and the kingdom. It seemed a bit out of place here, and Hardin wondered what might have sparked it. "If I might ask a favor, friend..." 

"Always, Sydney." And not because he had sworn an oath when he chose to follow. 

One of Sydney's claws traced lightly along the curve of the harp's frame, caressing it and swiping a thin trail through the dust. "...I should very much like to see that this instrument does not go to waste, even if only this once." 

Hardin frowned slightly. "...I am no musician." Sydney must have known that. "I've never so much as touched a harp before in my life." 

"Ah, but you see," Sydney murmured with a smile, resting the hand upon Hardin's chest. "I have. And the Dark allows me to touch... other things." The claw that had stroked along the wood now rested its tip over his heart. 

This would be where the favor came in, Hardin realized, his eyes narrowing in discomfort. Could Sydney truly do that? ...Could he bring himself to allow it? 

"You have surrendered many things to me, John Hardin," Sydney quietly reminded him, as always hearing his unvoiced objection. "I ask only for the use of your hands, for a few moments." 

"It's... a difficult thing, Sydney," Hardin began hesitantly, though he was sure Sydney did not need his explanation out loud. "To voluntarily give control of your body to another? It's not that I don't trust you... or that I would not offer my body," he finished in a mumble. 

"I know," Sydney replied with another smirking smile, tapping the sharp pointed claw that lay over Hardin's chest lightly and harmlessly. "It is a fear we all possess, is it not? Especially we who serve the Dark." 

This was true. Hardin had seen Sydney channeling, speaking in voices that were not his own, which was always disturbing. He'd seen spirits speak through others, less powerful, who had to struggle to regain control. And there was always the fear that the Dark might spread too far through one's mind... 

Sydney said nothing, and Hardin knew he was waiting for him to puzzle through it on his own. It's only Sydney, he reminded himself, and to have back a memory he could never relive properly again. If Sydney had asked him to rush into a losing mortal battle, Hardin would have done it without thinking - so why should he have to consider this? 

A few moments later, when Sydney removed his hand, Hardin was sitting down on the stool beside the instrument and raising uncertain eyes to Sydney, who gave him a nod. "I appreciate this, John. More than you might realize," he added, in nearly a whisper. 

"You have had my oath now for some time," Hardin said simply, ignoring the flickering fear. _And far more than that besides, and for longer._

Sydney had, it seemed, forgotten his usual reluctance to show any hint of familiarity within the walls of the manor, for he rested his hands fondly upon Hardin's shoulders from behind - and then Hardin's hands rose, without his instruction. 

Even given warning, it was eerie to see his hands move in ways he had not told them to. For a split second, instinct took over and he fought it, his fingers twitching against the strings of the harp. "Be calm," Sydney whispered into his ear through the discordant notes that resulted from the minor rebellion, and Hardin tried. This was Sydney, it was only Sydney... 

He closed his eyes, knowing that they might betray a sense of panic, and tried to let his thoughts drift. Sydney would not hurt him, nor let him be hurt. And if Sydney could give up his own body to the gods, the least he could do was offer his in Sydney's place - for they had given him his life again, through Sydney... 

His eyes nearly opened again in surprise when he realized he was hearing chords ringing out in the quiet room, as Sydney carefully tested and tuned the instrument that had been idle for years. Then, as the chords fell into place one after another, cascades of notes that swelled to fill the quiet, he did open his eyes to watch. It was strange, to say the least, to think that this music was coming from his hands, to think that his fingers could manipulate these strings so deftly. 

They faltered for an instant at his doubting, but corrected themselves quickly. Sydney's hands still rested on his shoulders, perfectly still, and a few moments later he heard the sound of Sydney's voice. A familiar sound, but this time unusual because it was raised in quiet song. 

_While dusk prevails upon the green,  
The light doth lend its sullen sheen.  
The chapel's bell sounds mourning tolls -  
The river rolls, the river rolls..._

His voice was hushed, yet clear and surprisingly innocent for a man such as him, who was usually found to be cold and difficult, who had seen and done so much. Perhaps it was the melody, which was uncomplicated enough to be a child's song and sweet enough to be a lullabye. Hardin found himself no longer thinking about the strangeness of what Sydney was doing through him, and simply listened as the prophet continued to sing the simple song in his soft tenor. 

_He sees her turn to him at dawn;  
Within the land of mem'ries gone,  
A man may keep what e'er he finds -  
The river winds, the river winds..._

As he so often did when he wanted to see Sydney, to truly see him, Hardin let the Sight take him, removing him from his body to stand outside and watch. Sydney's eyes were closed in a look of serious rapture, almost as when he spoke to the gods. He stood behind Hardin, singing softly over his shoulder without the slightest sign that he was responsible for the harp's music, or that it took any effort whatsoever to retain his control of Hardin's body. If Hardin had not already been in a sense spellbound, he would have been at the sight of him. 

_A river's fate is to the sea,  
The water's fate to tumble free.  
And tho' the river's bed reproves -  
The river moves, the river moves..._

Hardin, his Sight intent on Sydney's face, did not realize that there was another present until his fingers slipped on the strings, and through no fault of his own. Sydney's eyes flew open, his eyebrows rising slightly in a movement that hinted at anxious surprise, which rather surprised Hardin - he'd never seen quite that look on Sydney's face before. Sydney's head turned to the doorway, and Hardin's disembodied gaze followed to see the duke standing there, watching and listening with a neutral expression. 

The room was abruptly silent again, and Hardin let go of the Sight. He was not at all sure what to do, or whether or not Sydney had relinquished control of his body back to him yet. Furthermore, the strange look on Sydney's face at the sight of Duke Bardorba had him puzzled - Sydney reminded him of a child caught at something he'd been told not to do. Was he going to apologize? Or should Hardin himself apologize, for it was his hands upon their hosts' harp? 

No one spoke for what seemed like a long time, until the duke's deeper voice began to sing the next line. 

_A day, once past, shall not return..._

Sydney's eyes widened slightly, but he continued to sing as well, and Hardin was too startled to think much upon it when his hands once more began to play, accompanying the two of them. 

_Although a man may always yearn  
For water white and smiling eyes -  
The river dies, the river dies._

The last notes from the harp rose and then fell, leaving the room silent again, and still no one spoke. Hardin could not, for he wasn't sure if the duke knew exactly what had happened, or if Sydney would want him to. Fortunately, the uncertain silence was ended when the duke smiled slightly, looking old and tired. 

"I thank you," he said, addressing the two of them in a quiet, polite tone. "This harp has been silent for years - and even had I not missed the boy who once played for me that very song, it would have been pleasant to hear its music once again." 

"You might say instead," Sydney replied, just as politely and very smoothly, "that I owe you yet another debt for allowing my momentary indulgence in a pastime which brought me great pleasure when I was young." 

"I would not have denied you such an opportunity," the duke answered, shaking his head. 

Hardin remained silent, watching the two of them speak, still thoroughly confused about his role in this, until Sydney stepped away and turned to look down at him. "Come, Hardin - if we're to set out early tomorrow, I must rest. If you'll excuse us, my lord." 

"Of course, of course..." The duke moved from the doorway, and it wasn't until Hardin stood to follow Sydney that he realized he was fully in control of his own body. And how disconcerting, to think that he could become little more than a puppet and then return to normal without even noticing when exactly the change took place! 

Sydney seemed at least as distracted as Hardin, at least to one who knew him, as they made their way back to the guest suite where they had been staying. Once they were alone again, the door closed behind them, he sank into one of the fine leather chairs with a sigh. "I must thank you again, Hardin. I know the request I made was not a simple one." 

"To be honest, it was simpler than I had expected." Which was what frightened Hardin, really. 

But it was worth it, he thought. In this place, Sydney always seemed miserably tense, even to the point of becoming ill, but now he merely looked thoughtful. If the relinquishment of his hands could accomplish such a change, Hardin would have been glad to offer them anytime.


End file.
